sometimes he just sits outside
in his little red car
in front of the house.
he just sits there
staring blankly ahead
the still air lingering next to 
his open window.
he runs a tired hand
through his curls
his shoulders heave a large breath
he gathers his thoughts
his concreted body
and manages to walk one foot in front of the other
i hear the car door slam 
he greets me with a soft smile
and it seems he left the exhaustion
and overwhelming sense of drowning
in the car.